Waiting
by DobbyLovesSocks
Summary: But you stand outside and wait for him (sometimes, you think, that's all you ever do), because you're Charlie&Michael, Michael&Charlie, and you're always, always there for one another. (At least, that's what you think.) /For Erin


The first time it happens is the beginning of eighth grade. Michael slips into the cafeteria bathroom, ignoring your cries that you'll both be late to Chemistry. But you stand outside and wait for him (sometimes, you think, that's all you ever do), because you're _Charlie&Michael, Michael&Charlie,_ and you're always, _always _there for one another.

(At least, that's what you think.)

You're sure you hear a strangled scream come from behind the bathroom door, but when you lean closer, there's nothing to hear but the steady drip of a faucet. And when Michael comes a few minutes later out with slightly red eyes and damp cheeks, you're more focused on the fact that "Chemistry started five minutes ago!" than on your friend's miserable expression. When you walk into class, Mr. Monegro gives you both a stern look and a slight shake of the head, but he lets you off this time.

And for a while, it's all okay; Michael is his usual self once more, and you've almost forgotten about that one day after lunch.

* * *

But as the weeks go on, you notice that Michael's been acting strangely. He's making a lot more jokes than usual, but when he isn't goofing around, he's staring at you with pained eyes, and asking you questions you could never dream of answering. And he's going to the bathroom day after day (yet you never hear a toilet flush), so Mr. Monegro always keeps you after class, and you're getting sick of all this waiting.

It's been happening for months, until one day, Michael comes out of the bathroom, and you think that you just might've seen something _red _dripping down his arm. But he hastily pulls down his sleeves, and mumbles, "Let's go," so you follow him to Chemistry and erase it from your mind.

But today, class goes differently; Mr. Monegro only wants _you _after class, and when you approach his desk apprehensively, all masks of professionalism are gone. The look on his face is of pure concern, and when he asks you, "Is Michael okay?" you barely think before answering yes, and he lets you go with a skeptical look and a curt nod.

You think you might've been wrong, though, when Michael is given detention in English for having a knife in his pocket, splattered red.

* * *

The weeks continue to pass with astonishing speed, and nothing about Michael seems to be changing, so you settle yourself into what you suppose is the new normal. You've finally gotten used to everything (well, as close as you can get), when Michael takes the next step. You're walking toward the bathroom together, and he's turning a length of rope over and over in his hands, staring at it with an almost reverent expression on his face. And today, when he walks into the bathroom, he walks out just as quickly, and for the first time in months, you're both on time to Chemistry, and you're happy because Michael seems to have sorted things out at last.

Over the next few days, the same thing continues to happen - Michael clutches the rope, walks into the bathroom, and walks right back out - but each day, he stays inside for just a bit longer, until one day, you ask a question for the first time.

"Why do you always want me to wait for you, Michael?" You don't sound angry, just curious. Confused. But the response you get from him paired with the grim look in his eyes tells you never to ask again.

"Because if someone's waiting when I walk in, I know I'll have to walk back out."

For the first time, you think you understand the rope.

* * *

It's April, now, and the days are beautiful. Ever since The Day You Asked a Question, you've been waiting for Michael outside the bathroom, and you've put an arm around his shoulder and smiled at him. Because Michael doesn't seem to realize what a great guy he is, and you think that someone should really let him know.

As you're walking home one afternoon, you pause for a moment, and take in everything around you. The clear blue sky and the crisp, cool air surround you, and for once, you just feel _good._ And as you look around at the people on the street, with their bright smiles and laughter, you think that maybe, just maybe, it's all going to be okay. That Michael is fine, and everything's going to be alright. Everyone seems so _happy, _so _kind, _you think (or do you wish?) that all of those horrible things you hear on the news are just made up, that sorrow doesn't exist.

As you walk past the gun store, you avert your eyes, as always. The big men with the tattoos all up their arms have always scared you, so you take deep breaths and try to focus on the beautiful day. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of blue, the exact same shade as Michael's favorite jacket. You laugh to yourself, thinking that Michael would be the last person to end up in a gun store, with his gentle nature and hatred for violence. But then you think of how odd he's been acting lately, and wonder if you really know him as well as you once thought.

By the time you get home and begin your homework, all thoughts of guns and worries about Michael are out of your mind. You decide that everything's okay, because really, where is the evidence that it isn't? When Michael is having trouble, he talks to you, doesn't he? He knows he can come to you whenever he needs to, and he's seemed fine, lately. He comes to school smiling, and strange visits to the bathroom are none of your business, anyway.

You go to sleep that night, blissfully unaware of the horrors that have just taken place.

* * *

"I heard that his mother heard the gun go off!"

You feel sick to your stomach. _Michael._ Your best friend, the boy you knew best, gone. Dead. And it just might be your fault. You haven't stopped crying all morning. Your shirt is wet with tears, and your eyes are red and you don't even care. He could have _told_ you.

You thought it was all okay. The adults at school say he was having "family problems," that he had "no one to talk to," and that pushes you over the edge.

"HE COULD HAVE TALKED TO _ME!" _you scream, tears spilling out of your eyes. "_I _was there for him! He could've come to me, and-and..." A man from school who you've never met puts a hand on your shoulder and listens to your sniffling. He tries to explain that they mean an _adult,_ and that you couldn't have done anything, that you shouldn't blame yourself or be angry at Michael, and that bad things happen in life. You sit down on the floor, and just _cry_ for what feels like hours.

You don't want to tell anyone what you saw yesterday at the gun store, because that would mean it was your fault and you could have stopped it.

You were _Charlie&Michael, Michael&Charlie,_ and you were always, _always _there for one another. But Michael didn't realize this, so you're left alone, with nobody there for you.

If only you had waited for him, just one more time.

* * *

**A/N- Thank you to Paula for beta-ing this. :)  
**

**This is my February fic for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza, for Erin. I think I'm supposed to stop there, but that's just not what I do, you know.**

**Erin. You are awesome. I could just end it there. You were my first fanfiction friend, and I know I say that a lot, but it's true. And it means a lot to me... (probably more than it should :P) You're also an amazing writer. Everything you _say_ is poetic, and your writing is absolutely amazing. You're also a great person to talk to. I can have _real_ conversations with you, about anything from dogs to dreams to depression. And those all start with the letter d... Um, yeah. Anyway, you make me laugh and you make me think, and you've helped me become a better writer over the past few months. You give me the most honest feedback, and you're really just a great person, and I love talking to you. :) *hugs* I hope you liked your fic. :)**


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